A friend of mine is in the SICU right now after suffering traumatic brain injury following a fall at work on Saturday. He's actually an ex-boyfriend that became a good friend after we broke up. We've been in touch on and off for the past three years. He calls me on my birthday, sends me random messages and emails, and even sent me and Ian heartfelt well-wishes before the wedding. He's a good egg who has a lot of love for a lot of people. And now it's up to us to repay the favor.
It's been long week for everyone who knows and cares about Patrick. I've been to the hospital a couple of times and I'm headed back there today, looking for that glimmer of light, saying my prayers, cracking a few jokes with him, and keeping the hope alive. Pat is fighter, without question. He's adversarial by nature. How can he not come out of this?
There is hope. He has been squeezing people's hands this week and is now letting go of hands upon command. He has opened his eyes on occasion, too. They've removed the ventilator, since he can now breathe on his own, and they've inserted a feeding tube. He's currently under heavy sedation, and he needs to be. But slowly we are seeing so much progress, day by day. It's encouraging. He might be a million miles away inside his brain right now, but he's in there. I believe it. He can hear us. He can feel us. He knows we are there and that we love him. I don't doubt that for a second.
Last night, while putting my boys to bed, they did their usual prayers and thankfulness routine, followed by the usual, random assortment of questions laced with total exhaustion. The room was quiet and dark, and Nolan turned over on his side and said,
"Mommy, when we're sick, do we just lie in bed and daydream until we get better?"
I smiled. "Yes, I think that's usually what we need to do to get better."
Keep on daydreaming, Patrick. We're ready when you are.